


Tangled

by druscilla



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Age Difference, First Time, Getting to Know Each Other, Love, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Pre-Split, Relationship(s), Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we just fall in love with people.  It's everyone else that makes it more complicated.</p><p>   <i>"I'll own up to you if you own up to me."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published August 2010

**i. it’s okay by me.**

 

It wasn’t a purely innocent beginning, but as far as Pete goes, it was. Ryan was nineteen at the time and Pete was twenty-six. They were spending the weekend at Pete’s house in L.A. Ryan feel asleep in Pete’s bed watching a movie and when he woke up, his face was pressed to Pete’s neck.

They went swimming that day and while they were in the hot tub, Pete pulled Ryan into his lap. When the boy turned his head, Pete caught his lips in a kiss. Ryan returned it immediately.

He didn’t know if he liked boys. It wasn’t that he’d been conflicted and never able to figure it out. It was simply that, up until that moment, it had never mattered. And it still didn’t, Ryan’s soft mouth opening to Pete’s.

He could feel Pete’s hands on his hips, the erection growing against the curve of his ass. It felt good, it felt _real_ , and Ryan was already aching for more. He came in Pete’s hand there in the hot tub.

When they got inside—tangled up on the couch, cold from the dampness of their hair and hot from the pure human contact—Ryan watched with entranced eyes as Pete lead the boy’s hand to his cock. It was like jerking off backward, Ryan decided. Familiar, yet not. And you catch on quick after a few minutes.

It was like that for the first week. Simple. Hands on skin and mouths on mouths. Ryan would wake up with his face against Pete’s neck. They’d swim or watch a movie and by the end of it would always be tangled up in each other.

It wasn’t until Ryan went back to Vegas that he realized this was something more than the desire to touch another human body. He missed waking up with his face in Pete’s neck.

 

**ii. but the taste in my mouth still remains.**

 

“He’s too young for you.” Patrick said. Pete wasn’t at all shocked by the immediate reaction, but he _was_ annoyed.

“At least he’s legal.” Pete said coolly. “As I recall, _you_ weren’t.”

“I was too young.” Patrick admitted, arms crossed. “I was young and virginal and easily impressed.”

“Thanks.” Pete said dryly.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I was referring to your _age_ , Pete. Let’s not have a pity party here. You know I think you’re gorgeous.”

“Aw, Pat.” The older batted his eyelashes at his best friend.

He was promptly shoved. “I thought you were, like, in love with Ryan and here you are hitting on me.”

“In like.” Pete corrected. “Too soon for in love.”

“It’s never stopped you before.”

“Well, it is now.” Pete said. There was a pause. Not awkward, just there.

“I didn’t know Ryan liked boys.” Patrick admitted finally.

“I don’t think he does.” Pete replied.

“Be careful.”

 

**iii. and i’d like to see you undone.**

 

Pete took Ryan to the Young Hollywood party a few weeks later. Legs brushing and hands on the small of Ryan’s back. As soon as they got back to Pete’s they were tangled up in each other. “You know . . . I like you . . . right?” Pete managed to ask between kisses.

“I like you, too.” Ryan said hurriedly, lowering his lips to Pete’s neck and sucking a bruise against the pulse he found there. Then he pulled back, staring at Pete, eyes dark, lips parted as heavy breaths escaped his mouth.

“Jesus, Ry.” Pete breathed. “You’re too fucking gorgeous.”

“I want you to fuck me.” Ryan murmured. “Please, Pete.”

“You sure?”

“You have no idea.”

They stumbled through the house, kissing and touching, pulling off shirts and kicking off shoes. Pete pushed Ryan onto the bed while he stood at the foot, working off his belt and jeans. When he was stripped down completely, he lifted his eyes to see Ryan staring at him ravenously.

The man smiled gently, reaching down to thumb the button of Ryan’s jeans. “I think those need to be off.” he commented, voice thick. Ryan said nothing, just swallowed nervously, letting Pete push him flat on his back, letting his jeans and boxers be tugged off and thrown to the floor.

And then they were kissing, nothing except skin. When Pete pulled back and started fishing in the nightstand for lube and a condom, Ryan grabbed his arm. The look of sheer terror on his face nearly broke Pete’s heart. “Will it hurt?” Ryan asked, voice trembling.

“For a while.” Pete said, gently kissing the boy’s forehead. “I’ll go slow.”

Ryan gasped out loud when Pete’s first finger slipped inside of him. It wasn’t much of a stretch and it felt . . . weird. Not exactly good or sexual. It felt like, well, it felt like Pete’s finger up his ass. Two was more of a stretch. A flash of pain that quickly subsided. And it felt just as weird. That is, until Pete’s fingers curled and brushed against _that_ spot. The spot that made Ryan moan, his lips forming a perfect ‘O’.

He didn’t even realize Pete had added a third finger. And then they were gone. He was empty. For a moment.

It hurt, the sex. Not enough that he couldn’t get pleasure from it, but it hurt nonetheless. Afterward he curled against Pete, smiling as the man stroked his hair. “It gets better.” Pete promised. “You’ll see.”

Ryan nodded.

 

**iv. shame never crept close to our naked feet.**

 

It was a month or so since the sex. There was little or no pain now. Ryan was on tour with his band, reading a book Pete had given to him before he left L.A. the last time.

“So you’re dating Pete?” Brendon asked, bounding into the room suddenly. Ryan didn’t even look up. “So?” Brendon questioned, prodding his finger against his best friend’s cheek.

Ryan batted it away, irritated. “What?”

“You’re dating Pete.” Brendon repeated, less of a question this time.

Ryan’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Well, yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “I don’t think he’s, like, my boyfriend or anything.”

“Patrick says he is.”

Ryan’s expression didn’t change. “We like each other. We have sex.”

“Isn’t that what you do in a _relationship_?” Brendon pried.

Ryan made a noise of neither assent nor dissent and lifted his book up again.

The other boy was having none if it. He tugged the book out of Ryan’s hand and tossed it to the other bed, ignoring the low growling noise that escaped the back of the boy’s throat. “So he’s not your boyfriend?”

“No,” Ryan said shortly, “he’s not.”

“So if he slept with someone else you’d be totally okay with that?”

Ryan’s fingers itched. He was so tempted to slap that look of arrogance off Brendon’s face. Brendon, who hadn’t even had a date when he graduated high school. “He doesn’t.” was all he said.

“But what if he did?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan said, not really caring. “I guess it would depend on who it was.”

“So he can cheat on you with _certain people_?” Brendon asked incredulously.

“It’s not cheating!” Ryan snapped. “He’s not my fucking boyfriend. Get over it, Brendon.”

The younger boy was silent for a moment, before leaning over to retrieve Ryan’s book from the other bed. “Just be careful.” he warned.

Ryan took it back. “Thank you.”

 

**v. i‘m in the basement; you‘re in the sky.**

 

“Where are you?”

“If your next question is ‘what are you wearing’, I’ll come through the phone and strangle you.” Ryan promised, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear, turning off the television show Brendon had left on.

“It’s not.” Pete assured him.

“In the hotel.” Ryan answered.

“Want to have phone sex?”

The boy snorted. “So original, Pete.”

“Yeah, well, that’s me.” the man said brightly. “Mr. Originality. So . . . phone sex?”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Pete . . . Brendon’s in the shower.”

“So we have time then.”

“What if he comes out?”

“Tell him to go back in the bathroom so you can finish jerking off.” Pete said off-handedly. Then he moaned.

“Oh my God, Pete.” Ryan gasped, eyes widening. “You’re not. Are you? Pete?”

The man didn’t answer in words, just moaned again.

“Pete!” Ryan cried in a panic, uncrossing his legs as his jeans started to grow tighter.

“You called?” Pete asked, voice heavy with arousal.

“Not fair.” Ryan murmured weakly. “Just . . . not fair.”

“You out of your jeans yet?” the man asked, then moaned again.

Ryan swore, reaching under the sheets to undo his fly, slipping the denim past his knees and sliding his hand inside his boxers. He wasn’t aware he was making noise until Pete spoke.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so hot. Yeah, just like that.”

“Fuck you.” Ryan whimpered, his hand moving quicker.

“I wish.” Pete said, swearing. “You better hurry.”

“Why?” His voice was breathy and whining.

“Want to . . . _fuck_ . . . come with . . . _oh, God_ . . . you.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asked, the hint of a smile tangible in his voice.

“Fuck yeah.”

Ryan could never last with Pete’s voice and breath in his ear. He only managed to hold out during phone sex because there was no inked skin pressing against his. His toes were curling now. He was close, so close. Moaning and whining, choking on Pete’s name. “Oh God, oh god. Fuck! Pete, Pete, _Pete_ . . . ohgod ohgod!” He spilled over his hand, shaking. He could barely hear Pete coming to his name over the roar of his heart beating in his ears.

What he _did_ hear was another voice, all too close for comfort. “Dude! Dude, seriously?”

Ryan’s brown eyes snapped open to see Brendon standing at the foot of the bed, obviously taking in Ryan’s hand under the sheets, his ear to the phone, and the words that had just left his mouth.

“Fuck.” Brendon made a face. “Just jerk off in your own bed next time, okay, man? Seriously.”

Ryan let out a hysterical burst of laughter and Pete didn’t think he had ever been so confused in his life.

 

**vi. and i‘m burning all my bridges with these matches i light.**

 

Ryan wouldn’t call Pete after it happened, wouldn’t answer the texts. Pete was on the computer booking a ticket to Las Vegas when Patrick stepped in. “Maybe he just needs a minute to breathe, Pete.”

“He shouldn’t be alone right now.” the man snapped.

“He’s staying at Brendon’s.” Patrick said quietly. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk.”

“I don’t care.”

“And what are you going to say to him?” Patrick’s voice had a bite to it that time. “With all your experience of having parents die? What condolences are you going to be able to offer him that he hasn’t already heard?”

“Shut up!” Pete screamed, his voice cracking. He covered his face with his hands, a dry sob escaping his mouth. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked, when Patrick sat down. He lowered his hands, tears standing in his eyes. “I mean, he’s my . . .”

“I know.” the younger said gently. “Sometimes we have to wait for them though, Pete. Just give him some space.”

Ryan showed up at Pete’s a few nights later. Pete pulled him into a bone-crushing hug the moment Ryan stepped in the door. The boy responded stiffly. “We’re going out day after tomorrow.” he said, voice subdued.

“Ry, if you need more time than--”

“I don’t.” the boy said, pulling himself out of Pete’s arms. “I’m fine.”

Pete wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. Patrick was right. He was utterly and completely useless. He watched Ryan walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. Before he had completely unscrewed the cap, he was crying.

Pete bolted over and caught Ryan just as the boy crumpled, sobbing. Pete didn’t keep track of how long Ryan cried, clinging to Pete’s shirt, his entire body shaking. Five minutes, an hour, a year. It didn’t matter. Ryan cried until he had no more tears left to run down his cheeks. “It’s not right.” he whispered.

“It’s not.” Pete murmured.

“I knew it was going to happen.” Ryan pulled back, wiping at his face, breathing uneven. “I mean, it was on a matter of time before he did it.”

“But it’s still not right.” Pete finished.

“I was a zombie.” the boy said quietly. “Through the whole thing. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I was just . . . void.”

Pete reached out and took Ryan’s hands in his. “I wanted to come. Patrick talked me out of it. I wanted to be with you.”

“Thank you.” the boy whispered. He gave a ragged sigh. “I’m pretty beat and I’ve got a six a.m. flight tomorrow.”

“Let’s go to bed.” Pete said, nodding.

He drove Ryan to the airport at four, giving him an extra long hug before the boy disappeared through the gate. Pete wanted to say it then, but something stopped him.

 

**vii. all the nights we spend hiding from the world.**

 

“Who are you taking with you?” Pete asked. He was staying with Ryan in Vegas for a few nights. The VMA nominations had been released the week before.

“I wasn’t going to take anyone.” Ryan said, his head resting on Pete’s bare shoulder. “Why?”

“You probably should. Just to quiet some of those gay rumors.”

“And who are you taking to quiet yours?” Ryan shot back, a little more defensively than he meant to.

“I’m not.” Pete said, leaning down and kissing Ryan’s forehead. “My gay rumors aren’t ever going to stop anyway.”

“You encourage them.”

Pete smirked. “Yeah, babe, I do.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I don’t really care if people call me gay. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to take some random chick with me.”

“I wasn’t saying _random_ chick.” Pete said, amused.

Ryan huffed. “Well, unlike you, I actually _am_ straight. I don’t need to prove it.”

“Touché.” Pete kissed him, swallowing his indignance as his hands slid under the covers.

Afterward, when Ryan was panting and Pete was grinning, the boy smacked him in the arm. “That wasn’t fair at all, you know. You can’t just fuck me because I’m right.”

“Why not?” Pete asked.

Ryan didn’t have an answer.

 

**viii. what I don't know is what's inside of me.**

 

“She won’t stop calling me.” Ryan said, voice clearly annoyed. He and Pete were in bed about two weeks after the VMAs. “I only gave her my number to be nice.”

“Well, maybe you should.” Pete said, his fingers tracing Ryan’s shoulder blade.

“Should what?”

“Date her.”

Ryan looked up at him, eyes widening, trying not to look like he had just been kicked in the stomach. They hadn’t used the words; he thought it had been understood. At least, _he_ had understood. Maybe that was his problem, always expecting to be understood.

Pete seemed to though. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Ryan’s. “Everyone thinks you’re gay, babe. She’s a cover. You know, someone you can take to award shows and mention during interviews.” Pete traced the boy’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “This is what we do, babe. It’s what we _have_ to do.”

“But . . . I’ll have to have sex with her.” Ryan said in a small voice, not meeting Pete’s eyes. He felt fourteen. Especially when Pete kissed his forehead.

“I trust you. As long as I’m you’re number one.”

“You are.” Ryan said softly, burying his face in Pete’s neck. “You always are.”

The next day Ryan called Keltie while Pete was in the shower. He promised to see her the next time he was in New York. She sounded genuinely excited and he felt like he was selling a piece of his soul.

Pete came out of the shower and Ryan looked up at him with tears in his eyes. “I hate this.”

Pete nodded sympathetically. “You kind of have to.” He sat down next to Ryan, wrapping his arms around the boy. “It’s not fair, but it’s what we have to do.”

“I don’t like hurting people.” Ryan whispered. “I’m just going to be stringing her along like a doll. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Then do what I do.” the man said.

“What’s that?”

He kissed Ryan on the mouth. Hard. “Make it the best train wreck of her life.”

 

**ix. the painful realization that all has gone wrong.**

 

She hugged him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s so good to see you. How’ve you been?” She looked so happy. Ryan felt like he’d committed all seven deadly sins at the same time. “I’ve been good.” He forced a smile that didn’t even begin to match hers. “How about you? You look great.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I’ve been pretty good, too. My feet are killing me though. Lots of ice baths . . .” She led the sentence fade and linger. Ryan knew a come on when he heard one. But he didn’t.

“So, what did you want to do? Movie, dinner?”

She rebounded marvelously. “This is New York. We can do _anything_.” She sounded like a walking postcard, but she pulled it off perfectly.

They had sex after the play. Ryan fumbled in his wallet for a minute before remembering that he didn’t carry condoms anymore. “I, uh . . .”

She nodded and leaned over, pulling open the nightstand and pressing the square packet into his hand.

Sex with a girl was like riding a bike, he supposed. It wasn’t difficult to get back into the groove of it. But he could barely look at her. It felt like cheating. And it felt good, which only made him feel worse.

It only took a month or so before she was calling herself his girlfriend. It amazed him how she felt comfortable using it so quickly when he and Pete had been, whatever they were, for over eight months and they’d never used the ‘b’ word.

She was sweet. And fun, if not a bit annoying and overdone sometimes. Every time she made Ryan smile, he felt a little piece of his soul die.

 

**x. oh, how I dreamed to finally say such things.**

 

Pete and Ryan were kissing after sex. Tender and slow. Pete loved the way he could literally feel the tension ebbing from Ryan’s body, his shoulders and back. He didn’t want it to stop. He’d kiss Ryan for as long as he could before one of them spoke and the words ruined the moment. When the boy needed breath, he would kiss his neck and his shoulders, his collarbone.

Tonight was different though. Tonight Pete _needed_ to speak. And he hated it. His words never sounded as good if they weren’t coming out of Patrick’s mouth. He’d stumble and fall and half the time just give up. But he knew he needed to say it tonight. Ryan needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

So the kissing stopped and brown eyes stared at him, soft and unmoving. Unnerving all the same. Ryan could break Pete with just a look. The man took a steadying breath.

“I, uh . . . Ry, I just. I wanted to . . .”

Ryan brought his hand up, stroking the hair off Pete’s forehead. “It’s okay.” he said softly. “I know.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to the tattoo on Pete’s chest. “Me, too.”

Pete tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. “Yeah?” His voice cracked.

Ryan smiled for him, his lips brushing against Pete’s this time. “Yeah.”

It was more than enough.

 

**xi. you moved me in a way that I've never known.**

 

When Ryan couldn’t sleep, he’d text Patrick. _You up?_ The majority of the time Patrick would reply. He was used to late night texts and entreaties. It was one of the hazards of being best friends with Pete Wentz, Ryan knew. The boy would call Patrick’s number, wishing cell phones had a cord to twist his fingers around. It didn’t matter how many times he asked, he still felt like a teenage girl.

 _“Can you sing to me?”_ Only it generally came out more like _cansingtome_. Patrick would oblige, taking a drink of water and sing one of the dozens of songs Pete had written for Ryan, songs that no one but the three of them had heard.

The first time Pete had written a song for Ryan, Patrick had written the music on guitar. And when Ryan came out to visit, Pete asked Patrick to sing it for him. It hadn’t been awkward really, except for Ryan’s probing eyes staring at him. He sat on the floor, a few feet in front of Patrick while the older boy played. Pete kept his hands on Ryan’s shoulders, mouthing the words he had written.

As it went on, song after song, Ryan wouldn’t look at Patrick anymore. Just Pete.

It was unusual, but nothing they weren’t used to. Life was unusual, Ryan and Pete were unusual. Patrick was along for the ride. And he was okay with it.

He’d sing into the phone for Ryan. And when he was over, Ryan would murmur a thank you. Patrick would accept it and they would hang up. Ryan could sleep.

 

**xii. eyes meeting over the noise and holding fast with sharp realization.**

 

“When’s your anniversary?” Brendon asked, looking up at Ryan. He was met with a confused look. “You know, you and Pete?”

“Why?”

“I need to put in my phone.” Brendon answered. “So when is it?”

Ryan bit the inside of his cheek. “Hang on, Bren.” He pulled out his cell phone as he left the main room of the bus, climbing into his bunk and pulling the curtain shut.

“Hey, Ry.” Pete answered brightly.

“Uh, hey.” Ryan returned. _Awkward turtle, awkward turtle._ “Do we, uh, do we have an anniversary?”

Pete laughed. “Yeah. Most couples do.”

Ryan blushed, trying to cover his embarrassment. “When is it?”

“February third.” the man answered with a second’s hesitation. “First day I kissed you, Ry.”

“So it’s been--”

“Ten months, yeah.” Pete said dismissively. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Probably ordering Chinese. Why?”

“I’m going home.” Pete replied. “My mom’s in Wilmette. Do you want to come?”

“Christmas at your mom’s?” Ryan asked. He didn’t know to feel. That was sort of . . . official. He supposed they _were_ official. They just hadn’t ever discussed the it. “Do they know?” he asked finally.

“Yeah, they know.” Pete’s voice was patient.

“Okay. I suppose. I mean, yeah, sure.” Ryan shook his head. _Smooth, Ross._

Pete sounded amused, however. “Okay, cool. I’ll get everything figured out and let you know. I better get some hot Christmas sex.” He hung up, leaving Ryan staring at the phone with a mix of amusement and bewilderment.

“Well, you picked him.” he muttered to himself, walking out to the main area. “February third.” he told Brendon.

“You look like you got hit by a truck.” Jon commented from the microwave.

“I’m going to Pete’s mom’s for Christmas.” Ryan said quietly.

“So you _did_ get hit by a truck.” Jon replied.

“How is that getting hit by a truck?” Brendon asked. They ignored him, Ryan going back to his bunk and Jon grabbing a fork from the drawer. The last thing Ryan heard before he put in his earphones was the singer’s whining voice. “Jon, how is that getting hit by a truck?”

 

**xiii. our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance.**

 

Ryan’s teeth began chattering the moment they stepped out of the airport. Pete’s mother took his suitcase and ushered him into the car, scolding Pete for not warning him about the Chicago weather.

A boy about Ryan’s age turned around in the front seat. “I’m Andrew.” he said. “So you’re Pete’s boyfriend?”

Ryan blinked, slightly take aback. It was the first time he’d ever been referred to as such a thing. “Uh, yeah, I guess. I’m Ryan.”

The doors opened, Pete sliding into the back beside Ryan and Pete’s mother in the front. The man looked at Ryan in annoyance. “I’m supposed to tell you that Chicago winters are deadly or something.” he said in perfect deadpan.

Ryan laughed. “You have snow.”

“You’ve never had a white Christmas?” Pete’s mother asked in disbelief.

Ryan shook his head as Pete snorted. “She’s, like, morally offended by places that don’t have snow on Christmas.”

“Like Australia?” Ryan asked.

Nobody could hear the woman’s reply over Andrew and Pete’s eerily similar barking laughter.

It was strange enough to be at Pete’s for Christmas. It was stranger to hear himself referred to as Pete’s boyfriend. He was trying not to let it worry him. (It clearly wasn’t bothering Pete.)

That night after supper (where Pete’s grandmother made a fuss over feeding Ryan because he was ’too goddamn skinny’) Pete and Ryan went down to the basement. They were pulling out the convertible couch when Ryan asked. “Am I your boyfriend?”

Pete didn’t answer for a minute, just finished pulling out the couch. Then he straightened. “Yeah, I mean. It’s been ten months.”

“But, we’ve never . . .” Ryan let his voice trail off unsure of how to finish that sentence.

“Well, do we need to?” Pete asked, throwing himself onto the ’bed’ and gesturing for Ryan to lay down beside him. The boy did, pressing his body to Pete’s. “Do I need to say that one word for you to know that I care about you and I’m monogamous?”

Ryan shook his head, the color rising up his neck.

“Because if you need to hear it, I can.” Pete said. “I can say ‘Ryan, you’re boyfriend and I love you’.”

The boy squirmed uncomfortably.

“I just didn’t think you _needed_ to hear it to know.” the man finished.

“I don’t.” Ryan whispered. “I’m sorry. I thought . . . I don’t know.” He buried his face in Pete’s chest.

The man brought his hand up, running it through Ryan’s hair. “My words sound funny if I’m the one saying them.” he mumbled. “So I’d rather not fuck it all up. I‘m not so good at saying the words.”

“I know what you mean.” Ryan murmured.

“I know you do.”


End file.
